


Stage Fright

by wunderlichkind



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, PWP, Queerlander, Undressing, popcorn and haydust universe, they're my OTP okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19116385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wunderlichkind/pseuds/wunderlichkind
Summary: Ian isn't particularly looking forward to holding a presentation in front of a lot of people and his nerves cause a bit of a chaos that turns into steam very quickly.





	Stage Fright

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Popcorn and Haydust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877686) by [wunderlichkind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wunderlichkind/pseuds/wunderlichkind). 



> well, i've had this idea for a while now - it was actually supposed to be the next installment of "celebratory smut", but since i've abandoned my tumblr profile that won't happen and since i've been struggling with bouts of insomnia lately, i've had a lot of time to talk myself into writing it anyway. so enjoy!

„Have ye seen my keys? Damn it, I can’t... find... them.“

 

Fergus can’t help but chuckle at the sight of Ian, flustered, shirt half buttoned, only one dress shoe on and buried to his elbows in the clutter on the kitchen table, muttering frustratedly to himself. He leans against the door jam, swallows and musters a reassuring tone.

 

„I’m sure they’re in the bowl by the door, as they usually are. You have plenty of time left, too. Maybe get dressed first?“

 

Ian sighs and takes a step towards him, resting his head on Fergus’ shoulder for a moment. „God, I hate public speaking.“

 

Fergus chuckles again, fondly, and wraps Ian into a tight embrace. „I know you do, _mon loup._ But you’ll do just fine. And you’ve earned it, after all. I’m so proud of you for getting honoured like this.“

 

Ian just snorts into Fergus’ shirt and the mumble he follows it with sounds suspiciously like „If I kent they would make me do this, I wouldna have put so much effort into this freaking thesis.“ This time, Fergus laughs out loud, then takes his boyfriend by the shoulders and gently but firmly drags him off his chest.

 

„Let me get you a drink,“ he says, „and then we’ll get you dressed and through this.“

 

In the time it takes Fergus to pour the whisky, Ian has gone on search for his second shoe. Fergus follows the sounds of his one footed hops through the hallway, rounding the corner of the bedroom and instantly colliding with his off-kilter boyfriend.

 

„Damn it!“ Ian curses again, much more agitated this time, from where they end up tangled on the floor, soaked in whisky. „Fucking damn it, look at my shirt!“ He sits up and motions at his chest, where the white fabric now has a brownish tinge and clings to his skin, the dark lines of a tattoo shimmering through.

 

„Okay, okay, it’s alright,“ Fergus tells him, quickly getting up and pulling Ian with him, steering him to the edge of the bed. „Sit down, okay? It’s all going to be just fine, I’ll just get you out of this shirt and into a new one and we’ll be done in perfect time. Calm down.“

 

His tone is soothing as he kneels between Ian’s legs and puts his hand on Ian’s knees. Ian’s breathing does calm down a little. He puts his hands on Fergus’, and leans down, capturing Fergus’ lips in a quick kiss, tasting of whisky and salt.

 

„I dinna ken what I’d do without ye,“ he sighs, and drops his head, reaching to scratch the back of his neck.

 

„You wouldn’t get sprayed with whisky before a big presentation,“ Fergus responds drily, and tips up Ian’s chin until he faces him again. „Promise me something, will you?“

 

„Anything,“ Ian answers, and the simple honesty behind that statement has Fergus catch his breath, stunned – once again – by the force of his own love for this disarming bastard.

 

„Sit down to tie your shoe next time, okay?“ he says after regaining his composure and Ian laughs.

 

„Okay. Promise.“

 

Smiling, Fergus reaches up and starts undoing the buttons on the ruined shirt, one by one. His knuckles occasionally brush against the smooth skin underneath, slightly sticky with whisky, and with every button, Ian’s breathing picks up speed again. When Fergus reaches the last one, hands resting in Ian’s lap, he quirks an eyebrow up at him.

 

„Really?“ he teases, one hand lazily caressing the half hard shape through the fabric of Ian’s dress pants.

 

„It isn’t my fault,“ Ian shrugs, „ye’re the one undressing me.“

 

He buries his right hand in Fergus’ locks, and pulls him into a slow, deep kiss. Fergus readily leans into him, opening up to Ian’s hot lips and intent tongue, his own breathing speeding up until they’re completely in sync, breaking apart panting.

 

Fergus shoves at the open shirt, pushing it off Ian’s shoulders and leans in to lick a stripe over an exposed hard nipple, then tracing the sloping shape of the tribal tattoo over Ian’s heart, humming in his throat. „Think I could get drunk off you?“ he grins at Ian, getting a lazy smile in return, one so predatory, it reminds Fergus why he dubbed him „my wolf“ in the first place.

 

„I think,“ Ian states and stands, shrugging the shirt off completely and tugging Fergus up with him, „we can take the time to get drunk off each other later, but for now we have to be quick.“ Each word is punctuated by a step, Ian’s hand on Fergus’ chest guiding him ahead until Fergus’ back is pressed against the wall, Ian crowding into his space like he wants to forget where one man begins and the other ends.

 

It’s the last words between them for a while, both of them eager for the race, all clashing hearts and mouths and bodies. The heat rises between them like wildfire, catching so fast that they can barely keep up. Ian grinds against Fergus with abandon, and Fergus holds on for dear life, hands roaming Ian’s body, his brain a muddled mess of incoherrent praises and swears at the sight and feel of his boyfriend’s beautiful wild side.

 

They barely manage to pause long enough to undo their pants, both groaning at the thrill of skin on skin, joined hands on joined flesh driving a rapid, needy rhythm met by the harsh sound of their breathing. Fergus is thankful for the support of the wall behind him, the on-slaught of lust too much for his knees and Ian’s weight heavy against him with all their strength focused entirely on the one goal, the frantic chase of the ultimate high.

 

They reach it within heartbeats of each other, a sudden memory flashing before Fergus’ eyes of their first ever encounter like this, the first release of pent up sexual tension between them, in a dim, hot trailer on an open field in Highland summer half a lifetime ago.

 

„ _Dieu,“_ he pants, when he finally settles into his body again, reaching out and pulling Ian impossibly closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

 

„Well, we’ve officially ruined both our shirts,“ Fergus adds after they break apart and straighten up, taking in the situation. Ian laughs and saunters in the direction of the bathroom.

 

„Yeah. That, and we’ve gotten rid of my stage fright. Totally worth it.“


End file.
